Foundations in Literature: The Islamic World


A Brief, Wondrous History of Arabic Literature

When I talk about the humanities, and the importance of art, and literature in particular, in the world as a whole, I struggle to articulate any coherent, empirical argument. I can say that it is an essential component of humanity, that there would be no civilization or culture without art, and that it is what makes life worth living, but for many people, nothing is true except statistics and tangible benefit. Well, that’s not the world art exists in, and I’m okay with that, even if it makes arguing my case a little harder.

But difficulty does not imply defeat; art is the foundation of civilization, and perhaps the clearest example of this connection lies in Arabic culture, to whom we owe much of our societal progress to this day. This is a culture founded upon language in the most literal way possible. Arab literature precedes the Islamic religion and caliphates, but achieves its true height and impact with the Prophet Muhammad’s writing of the Qu’ran, in Arabic of course, setting in stone the importance of the Arabic language and poetry within this new culture. Bedouin poetry was an important cornerstone in Arab society, illustrated by the tribal position of rawis, whose only job was to memorize and recite poetry, and this importance lasted into the Golden Age of Islam with the Umayyad and Abbasid Caliphates and beyond.

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Beyond the Words


The Art of Translation

As humans, we have a tendency to organize ourselves into different groups. We create these tribes of people which we identify with on some level, and these tribes in turn produce divisions among people. These distinctions are, of course, artificial, but we are drawn to them in order to find solidarity in those who we perceive as like us. We look for people who have the same struggles, feel the same emotions, and hold the same ideas and values that we do. Most of the time, this grouping creates antagonism, an “us vs. them” mentality, a negative tribalism that breeds ignorance and fear when we align ourselves against others. What is often ignored amidst all this divisiveness and polarization is the fact that we all belong to the single tribe of persons, and that we are all in the same boat as human beings on this planet.

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Dostoevsky and Humanity


A little while back, The Paris Review published this article on the empathy and humanity of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Russian author of multiple masterpieces including The Brothers Karamzov, Crime and Punishment, and The Idiot. His is a body of work that has affected me greatly, and my reading Crime and Punishment is one of those rare events in our lives that we can look back and point to as a turning point in who we were to become as people. I was remarkably moved by Raskolnikov’s fall and redemption, particularly by his supporting cast of characters like Sonya and Razumikhin .

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A Poem for Your Monday


[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

by e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
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A Poem for Your Monday


Ode on a Grecian Urn,

By John Keats

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
       Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
       A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape
       Of deities or mortals, or of both,
               In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
       What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
               What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
       Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
       Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
       Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
               Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
       She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
               For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

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Processing the World We Live In


Literary Voices React to President Donald Trump

I’m in a whirlwind. I am angry, sad, confused, disillusioned, heartbroken, hopeless, and genuinely shaken to the core. I am afraid to write on this because I don’t know what will come out. But here are the voices of others who have spoken.

Please love each other. Please care for each other. Please protect each other. I do not have a government that speaks for me and I apparently misunderstand human nature. But I do know that I, as a straight, white male, will not be as affected as others. And I will do everything in my power to fight for those who have been shouted down and cast out and ostracized and made to fear for this entire campaign process and the foreseeable future.

I still believe in the power of the personal. I see a lot of hate, more than I ever could have truly imagined existed. And that has been shocking. But I still have hope that there is good in the world, and I will fucking fight for it. Please do the same. Fight for the good in humanity and the world and the country and every person you see. We are going to have a lot of shit thrown at us in the next four years and maybe even beyond, but I know that I am going to face the storm in the embrace of the people I love, and that is the only way to survive. To change. To hope.

Just love.

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Murakami and Darkness


On the day of this election and the eve of the next four years, we are finally coming to the end of a campaign of hateful national discourse that has stirred up the darker sides of our humanity and country alike. Haruki Murakami, perhaps Japan’s most prominent working author, was recently awarded the Hans Christian Andersen literature award, and in his acceptance speech, addressed this shadow that must accompany the light in our individual selves, our society, and our country. The Guardian has an excellent article here that touches on quite a few topics, but this addressing of darkness seems the most relevant at the moment.

Murakami states that “no matter how high a wall we build to keep intruders out, no matter how strictly we exclude outsiders, no matter how much we rewrite history to suit us, we just end up damaging and hurting ourselves,” a sentiment that opposes segments of both American and European politics, which call for anti immigration measures and to reject refugees and people in need. Continue reading

The Need for Different Modes of Art


Although literature will always be my first and foremost love, I have recently become much more open minded about the capabilities of art and sought out an understanding and appreciation of the different modes art can express itself through. For most of my life, I had treated film as purely entertainment, visual art just did not receive a fair share of my attention, and I never really found the kind of music that spoke to me until later in my life. I have since found music, dipped my toe into the world of visual art, and fallen wholeheartedly into the rabbit hole of film studies.

As I’ve explored these different forms, they’ve all individually justified their own existence to me. I truly believe that the power a specific brushstroke’s size and tone and emotion conveys throughout a painting cannot be replicated in a single film still, just like how a powerful scene in a film that is constructed almost entirely without dialogue cannot translate itself onto the pages of a book or into a sheet of music, nor can a passage from the pages of Moby Dick, in all its beautiful language and complex syntactical construction, be put to the screen. Although there is plenty of overlap between all of these modes, they also stake out unique justification for existence and original expression that no other mode can match. Continue reading

A Poem for Your Monday


As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls, to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
‘The breath goes now,’ and some say, ‘No:’

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears;
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

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